Today we suffered a Serious Diary Malfunction. The only surprise is that it hasn’t happened before.
There we were at
10.15 this morning, still in our dressing gowns and enjoying a sneaky but delicious piece of toast and butter. Butter is now good for you, apparently, so we are obediently eating it with toast or, even better, hot cross buns at every possible opportunity.
Let nobody say that we don’t look after our health. I was also on the telephone to young Sam hearing all about his success in winning the Class Cup / Pudsey Bear. Cue the door bell.
And there on the step was the lovely Sue, who arrives every six weeks or so to mow our hair. We had totally and completely forgotten she was coming. Even though it is clearly written in our diaries – “10.15
Hair Cuts”. There really wasn’t any excuse.
We actually have, not one, but two 2013 diaries. One is an official looking, silver, one week to
view, A4, desk version from WH Smiths. The other is a rather beautiful “Date Book” which was one of my Christmas presents. On the front it instructs me to “Live with Intention. Dwell in Possibility” and the start of every month
is marked by an inspirational quote.
February’s quote is: “Home is where you are loved, even by those who know all about you.” I shall remind Mr B of this whenever necessary –
which means at frequent intervals - at least until we get onto March when presumably I will have another quote to taunt him with. I have colour coded every entry in the Date Book with the help of highlighters: pink highlight for my dates, green for Mr
B’s and orange for those involving us both. And yes, since you’re asking, “10.15 Hair Cuts” is in there, highlighted in orange.
according to my Date Book, it is Mardi Gras and Lincoln’s Birthday. No mention at all of Pancake Day. Let’s face it, it’s bad enough for Mr B and I to have a Diary Malfunction but you don’t expect it from a diary. Even if it calls
itself a Date Book. But then it IS American so perhaps we can forgive – so long as we don’t forget, of course. But that’s OK because, lest we forget, the supermarket has a prominent display of flour, milk, eggs and lemons plus packets of
easy-make batter for those who might need it. Obviously whoever is responsible for stocking the shelves does not suffer from Diary Malfunctions. “Pancake Day” they have written in their diary / date book. Quite possibly in red letters.
When my brothers were at school – the illustrious sounding Coopers Company School in London – Pancake Day was marked by a particularly barbaric School Tradition.
All the boys had to dress in their rugby kit and stand at either end of the school hall while a giant pancake was tossed in the air – a signal for all the boys to dive head-first into an almighty scrummage in order to secure a bit of pancake. History
does not relate how many were injured each year. Actually, even as I am writing this, I am wondering if my brothers made it all up. I wouldn’t put it past them. As a child I believed for years that a particularly beautiful house we passed on our
way to the park was just a cardboard frontage – because my brother told me so. The word “gullible” was invented for me. (Or so my brothers told me...)
Mr B says he thinks we ought to get into practice for next Tuesday. I don’t think he means we have to don rugby kit and fight for a piece of pancake. He means we should have pancakes for pudding tonight. And, possibly, tomorrow and,
even the next day. After which it will be Pancake Day itself and we shall be experts at the mixing and the cooking and, of course, the all-important tossing. The general consensus, among those I have consulted (that is, my Facebook friends) is that you
just can’t have too many pancakes. Mr B would agree.
And if we did happen to have another Diary Malfunction next Tuesday – and, let's face it, it's
perfectly possible - we would already have eaten enough pancakes to keep us happy till this time next year...